


dinnertime

by tinyduck



Series: miya sandwich [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Oral Sex, Voyeurism, but not really, implied atsumu x reader, please mind the warnings, slight dubcon, slight vaginal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyduck/pseuds/tinyduck
Summary: Osamu knows that if it weren’t for one tiny little bump in the road, Atsumu would be down on one knee with your hands clasped in his, asking you with nothing but complete adoration in his eyes for you to go out with him. And Osamu also knows for all his ‘tiny little bump in the road’ talk, it’s far more complicated than that.Because you’rehisgirlfriend.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Reader
Series: miya sandwich [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136915
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110





	dinnertime

**Author's Note:**

> Could not sleep, too busy thinking about how I would like to be in the middle of a Miya twin sandwich pls and thank.

Osamu thinks he’s fairly smart.

Sure, Atsumu got better grades and has an entire encyclopedia set of volleyball techniques tucked inside his head, but he’s always been a little slow on the uptake, a little too tactless, a little too lacking in the art of subtlety. And Osamu knows he’s intelligent in all the ways his twin isn’t, knows he has a keen eye _especially_ when it comes to his brother, knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Atsumu has a big fat crush on you. Knows that everyone else has probably noticed by now too – everyone else except you. 

It’s not like Atsumu’s good at hiding it either; it shows in the way he smiles at you, the way his hand seems to linger a little too long on your shoulder, or seems to skim dangerously low down your back. In the way he brushes the hair from your face or licks his thumb to wipe the ice cream from the corner of your mouth. In the way he leans forward just a little too close when you feed him a spoonful of ‘Samu’s cooking, in the flutter of his eyes when he swallows, in the slow, deliberate way he licks his lips while staring at you. 

Osamu knows that if it weren’t for one tiny little bump in the road, Atsumu would be down on one knee with your hands clasped in his, asking you with nothing but complete adoration in his eyes for you to go out with him. And Osamu also knows for all his ‘tiny little bump in the road’ talk, it’s far more complicated than that. 

Because you’re _his_ girlfriend.

Rationally, he knows that this should bother him, this constant toeing of the line Atsumu’s doing. He knows there should be a stern, snarky talking to, knows he should set boundaries, knows he should check in with you and see if you’re okay, if you’ve noticed, if you want him to stop. 

Irrationally?

It makes something warm twist in his belly and slide down to his cock when he thinks about the fact that Atsumu – demanding, nit-picky, high and mighty Atsumu – wants something he can’t have. Something that’s _Osamu’s_. Suddenly the flashy cars and revolving door of models look like consolation prizes, the televised matches and brand sponsorships frivolous niceties. They pale in comparison to the look on Atsumu’s face when Osamu has an arm wrapped around your waist, his nose pressed into your hair as he whispers something that makes you squirm against him. 

And what a look it is.

The pinched brow and slight frown on his near mirror image is addictive, sweeter than any candy, brighter than any sun. It makes Osamu dig his fingers a little harder into the soft give of your waist, makes his dick twitch with dizzying delight, makes him crave the feeling a little more each day.

You hardly notice when Osamu ramps up touching you, and it masks his otherwise selfish actions with a soft veneer of affection when he considers the way unadulterated delight crosses your face every time he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a kiss while you both cook. The way your cute smile feels pressed against his mouth. The way you squeak when he pinches or smacks your ass. The way you tuck into his shoulder when he says something particularly filthy a little louder than he should. The way your mouth drops into a startled little ‘o’ when he cups your pussy with a firm hand. The way your lashes flutter when he rolls his fingers just so, making your legs buckle as you scrabble at his shoulders and hiss that his brother is _right there_. The way he can feel Atsumu’s stare flickering back and forth between the counter and the hand Osamu has disappearing up your skirt, the fabric caught around his wrist and lifting teasingly higher and higher with each pass of his fingers along your clit. 

Osamu lets you yank his hand away, feeling a little dazed with how quickly the blood rushes down to his cock, murmuring a half-hearted sorry to you he doesn’t really hear because he’s thinking about how tight you’d squeezed your thighs together just now. 

Osamu washes his hands and pulls out the plates, ignores the flush along Atsumu’s cheeks in favour of passing him cutlery. Neither of you can look the other in the eye, which means neither of you notice the satisfied smile on Osamu’s face as he drawls, “Dinner’s ready.”

He fucks you hard into the mattress that night, pulling you back by your hair so he can tell you just how sorry he is over the sound of your desperate whimpers. 

After that Osamu pulls back a little, gives you the space to breathe because he’s smart. Because he can read the way your shoulders draw tight and the way your eyes flick over to Atsumu when Osamu gets a little too close in the kitchen. He’s careful to never push too far too fast, slipping a hand up your shirt to pinch at your nipples only after Atsumu leaves the room, pulling your panties to the side and sneaking a long, thick finger inside your tight heat when his twin is on the phone. Only fucking you on the sofa during Jackals’ practice, or pressing you up against the windows to slide his cock inside when Atsumu’s snoring in bed, or feeling you choke and gag around his cock in the shower when Atsumu’s bustling around in the kitchen just a few feet away. Circling your clit under the blanket during movie night. Pressing his cock up against your ass under the pretense of teaching you how to cook. Feeding you with his fingers, making you lick them clean, pretending he doesn’t notice Atsumu’s eyes linger on the soft pink swirl of your tongue. 

It’s gotten to the point where you barely bat an eye when he nudges you to your knees in the living room, where you drape yourself along the sofa arm, peeking over your shoulder at him as you wiggle your ass in the air. Where you let him fuck you in the middle of the day with the curtains open, your shirt hiked up above your breasts as you groan and tug on his hair, grinding wet and messy in his lap as he bites at your shoulder and watches the door. 

It’s gotten to the point where tonight you let him spread you out across the dining room table, naked and wanton, writhing as you buck your hips up against his face and Osamu bucks his into thin air, his erection straining at the front of his sweats, every brush of fabric along the sensitive head making him moan loudly into your slick folds. You’ve soaked him from nose to chin, your hands tangled in his hair as you beg for him to let you cum again, your words twining with the sound of his fingers fucking slow and deep inside you, crooking just so to make your back bow. 

You don’t notice the key in the lock, but Osamu does.

The door swings open and Osamu knows if he could see over the rise of your trembling thigh, he’d see his twin framed in the doorway, probably with the same look on his face he always has whenever he looks at you. A tiny part of Osamu is upset he’s missing it, especially when he hears the gasp ripped from your throat, the way it dissolves into a wavering moan when he adds another finger, lips sealed around your sensitive bud to suck.

You’re either pushing him away or pulling him closer, gasping out _‘Samu, ‘Samu_ so pretty he just hooks his arms around your legs and drags you closer to his face, letting his glossy fingers slip along the crease of your thighs as he groans into your cunt. He only stops when you finally manage to prop yourself up on one shaky arm, the other covering your breasts as you try to squeeze your legs shut, as if you could manage with the way he’s pulling them apart right now.

“Well?” Osamu finally looks over your leg, arching one thick eyebrow and feigning nonchalance even as he feels more precum trickle down his length at the look on Atsumu’s face. “You comin’ in or what?” He gives a firm lick up your slit, making you squeal. “Dinner’s ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me on tumblr [@chicoree](https://chicoree.tumblr.com/)


End file.
